They call me free, but I call me a fool...

Lawrence Francis Napolitano

Sun, 19 May 2013 11:04:03 -0400

Lawrence Francis Napolitano

Dear Pop-pop,

Mon, 13 May 2013 00:06:10 -0400

Here’s to you, the man whose parents stole into this country and told their children that “This is America. We speak English now. You will live better than we did. It will be better here, safer.” But you learned Italian anyway so that when more family came over, you could translate their words to your own children. You fell in love with an Irish-German girl and loved her with all your heart until it stopped. You went to college, you got your teaching license. You got a crummy job to support your soon-to-be growing family. You became an accomplished educator, principal, and an administrator that students actually liked. You never stopped learning. You went on trips you could barely afford because it offered the chance of bettering yourself and gaining more knowledge. And you took your family with you.

You suffered through the loss of your first child with your wife, but didn’t let it rip you both apart. You had seven brilliant children and then fifteen grandchildren. You were grouchy, you were tired, but you were so incredibly smart and cared so much for all of us. And one of the most powerful concepts you ever imparted to my mother and to me was that we have the potential to do anything. We’re human, but that’s not a weakness. It means that we can become anything we want to and no one can stop us if we have the desire and the drive to move forward. You never put any of us down for wanting to become something, even when Sarah said she wanted to become a plumber-hobo. You believed in every one of us and our strengths, in our fire.

Eight years ago you had a massive heart attack. Father Flynn joked about it, saying that God had called you and you put him on hold for a while. We almost lost you and that was the first time I remember ever seeing my mother cry. And she was one of the toughest, most terrifying people that I have known. But you made it. You had to take things slower, a lot slower, but you didn’t stop living your life. You still traveled, you still worked in your garden planting fig trees and blueberry bushes and daffodils and tulips and tomatoes on the deck. You still went walking with your wife.

And then…well, things kept getting worse. It seemed like you went back to the hospital every 3-6 months on average. That Sunday you…you came to my show, to our jazz ensemble show. I didn’t know you were coming, my mom had just mentioned it to you both the day before and you guys came. And afterwards you told me you enjoyed it and we sounded good and you seemed fine, just like you always did before. A little tired, but happy to see me and be with your wife and daughter at the show…and three days later I got the call to come home because you were in the hospital and someone had to be home to watch Jack and Sarah and take them to school in the morning. Classes for me had just ended the day before so of course I came home. I didn’t think it would end up this way at the time. You’d gone in for chest pain like that before. But by this time you had eighteen stents in your heart and I guess it was finally too much to keep going. I never saw you again after Sunday. I went back and forth between school and home for two days. Thursday morning, mom called crying. “We….we lost him.” I was the only one home to get that call.

She told me to go back to school. To go study, to go to my lessons, to go to work. Yeah right. I went back to school. I skipped my lessons, didn’t study. I did go to work that night, and for the next two nights, even though it meant missing the Saturday wake session. On one hand, I would have rather played in that pit and not thought about it for longer. On the other hand, my family needed me. Running away from my problems had always been my solution, but it doesn’t work as well as it used to and I couldn’t abandon my mom and my siblings and definitely not my grandmother here.

But on Sunday…I couldn’t come up to your body. You weren’t there anymore. That wasn’t you, even though it looked like you were just asleep, as usual. It wasn’t…right. I held hands and shoulders and hugged and cried or sat alone and stared at nothing most of the time. When someone finally explained what had really happened to Sean, his face just about broke my heart. He’s five, but he understands and he misses and will miss you just like the rest of us. There were so many strangers, all asking “How are you?” “Are you okay?” and every time I thought to myself “That is such a stupid question. How do you think we’re all doing?” I was upset and didn’t want to be around anyone. When I hurt, I hate everyone. I want to be alone with my pain. But that can’t really happen in a situation like this.

On Monday morning, I drove in the funeral procession. They made all of the granddaughters read an intention at the mass. Aunt Suzanne sang the ‘Ave Maria’ for you one last time. Her voice was beautiful, though it hasn’t been the same since the surgery and she was obviously struggling to get through it emotionally. I don’t know what Grandma’s going to do now in that lonely house without you. You two were still so in love. And she’s got spunk and strength, but you were her everything. I can’t even fathom her feelings right now. Uncle Michael and Uncle Larry escorted her in and out, both in their full respective uniforms.

I left from the gravesite to go straight to a final jury. That was a nightmare. One judge told me I played very emotionally and musically. No fucking shit, but I didn’t mention anything. I went back to my room and pretended I wasn’t there for the rest of the afternoon into the night.

Mom still cries every so often. She was always most like you, fascinated with science, sort of grouchy, very tired, and definitely a gruff, no-bullshit attitude. You two were closer than the others and she feels lost without you. She’s so scared for Grandma too. I don’t think she could handle losing both of you so quickly. She hasn’t gone back to work yet. You died in her hospital. Among her coworkers. And she and I get the same way about people when we’re upset. Tomorrow is her first day back. I hope she’s okay.

Pop-pop, I have another jazz show on Tuesday night. And I know I’m gonna cry and I wish you could be there. I haven’t performed like this since. You always liked the jazz shows better, when you could make it. We just…we lost you so quickly. Not just the head of our family, but the heart of it. No family gathering was complete without you falling asleep in some chair or couch. I still have the records you gave me and the old comic books. You had this crooked grin that you gave when you thought one of us said something really clever or witty. It wasn’t there often, but that made it more special. You never gave up on Jack, even when other people wrote him off time and time again. You loved all of us, your grandchildren, your children, and your wife. You told me I was going to be a great teacher. I miss you Pop-pop. I miss you and I know everyone else does too. But I’m so glad, so very glad that I got to know you for nineteen and a half years. You were the wisest man I have ever known. I love you. Good night.

I can’t believe he’s gone.

Fri, 03 May 2013 10:38:37 -0400

I can’t believe he’s gone.

"What cannot be said will be wept."

Fri, 03 May 2013 10:26:25 -0400

“What cannot be said will be wept.”

- Sappho (via loveyourchaos)

Photo

Wed, 01 May 2013 19:46:44 -0400

Photo

Wed, 01 May 2013 19:45:20 -0400

"they say there is violence to every new beginning so let me love you gently — as if you & i..."

Wed, 01 May 2013 19:26:24 -0400

“

they say there is violence
to every new beginning
so let me love you gently —
as if you & i hadn’t been both gravity-
slammed on
& catapulted off the seesaw of visibility
or found our bodies buried in far-off
distant hillside cities
with Leviticus breathing down our backs—

let me love you in olde english,
or family recipes
in every language that hasn’t yet ruined
the season’s first snow or
the meaning of Yes
let me love you
the way my grandpa loved whiskey:
shamelessly & with abandon
let me make watermarks in your
hardwood,
bump my glass hip to yours.

there is a four poster bed in my chest
with your handkerchief knotted to its banister,
& i am splintering, bent, & bowed low
like a tree in monsoon season,
proposing with all of my 26 rings:

how about Oklahoma. or Utah
maybe a rocker in Southern Georgia or
porch steps on the coast of Maine

because you & i? we have both
done it Right
too many times
& I want this, so
Baby, get messy with me
let’s do it all Wrong.

leave the tired to their ruts &
invent something other
than the wheel with me
I don’t want anything labeled,
processed or pre-wrapped,
don’t want Forward
if it’s toward what we already know

i want slow motion;
let me slow dance you in the kitchen
while the artichokes boil over,
I wanna boil over with you.
paint the kitchen the color of our water
damage

forget children,
I wanna raise a barn with you—
put hammer to nail &
barrel-buckle our bodies to community

I want the blister of handmade
on my heart &
the dirt of homegrown in our bed
& if it’s true that only fools rush in
then fuck — take my hand
and my whole life, too
because you have made me bold enough
to think that even backwards is better
than what we’ve tried to bend ourselves into

& it’s true that i’ve got
fistfights in my belly
for every coward that’s handcuffed
their hurt to loving you
& i know you’ve never charged extra for baggage
but this body is a suitcase &
i don’t intend on letting you carry it, no.

walk beside me.
let your brack & tweed
stand alongside the midwestern yearn
of my urban swoon,
show me your swagger just by
pop & locking your garter belt

i want to write your name
in the dust of a train car’s exhale
somewhere south of the Mason Dixon,
kick wasp nests deep into the hills of Julian
where you found that bomb &
still made it back to show me how to ball yarn
& crowbar myself open wide enough
for the helium of your hearthatch
to hot air balloon us
into the chariot of every afternoon’s
swung low

so let’s go —
lungshock headroll off the dock
& into crisp lake water
of the next sixty new beginnings
all hands &
no hesitation.

”

- Meg Day, excerpt from “Say Yes” (via pigmenting)

scificity: http://scificity.tumblr.com When 2 great things...

Wed, 01 May 2013 19:15:15 -0400

scificity:

http://scificity.tumblr.com
When 2 great things collide!

likeafieldmouse: Michele Parliament

Wed, 01 May 2013 01:25:55 -0400

likeafieldmouse:

Michele Parliament

mainedamage: X-Men: Days of Future Past

Wed, 01 May 2013 01:25:15 -0400

mainedamage:

X-Men: Days of Future Past

Photo

Wed, 01 May 2013 01:23:56 -0400

Italian armor c. 1565

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 22:28:25 -0400

Italian armor c. 1565

"A poem begins with a lump in the throat."

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 22:26:38 -0400

“A poem begins with a lump in the throat.”

- Robert Frost (via words-in-lines)

amandaonwriting: Hamlet Leggings

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 22:15:53 -0400

amandaonwriting:

Hamlet Leggings

”A demon can get into real trouble, doing the right thing.”...

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 22:12:38 -0400

_{”A demon can get into real trouble, doing the right thing.” He nudged the angel. “Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? Funny if I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?”
“Not really,” said Aziraphale.
Crawly looked at the rain.
“No,” he said, sobering up. “I suppose not.”}

soldier-to-my-own-emptiness: Speedy Motorcycle LEEMOSSSS!!!

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 22:08:15 -0400

soldier-to-my-own-emptiness:

Speedy Motorcycle

LEEMOSSSS!!!

I’m really impressed and proud of this crew. I admit I was hesitant about going back to...

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 13:42:03 -0400

I’m really impressed and proud of this crew. I admit I was hesitant about going back to Trinity to help work on this show. Not just because most everyone I know is gone, but I was not sure how this production was going to run and if it would go well. But damn…the actors are great, the crew seems on top of their game, and the pit…the pit, despite being conducted by this…woman, they’re doing awesome. They all need a confidence boost (except for the floutist who goes from ‘okay’ to ‘needs to be taken down a peg’), but they’ve got a great attitude about the whole thing and they’re doing well for most intermediate level players doing fucking Sondheim for crying out loud. I’m honored to be working among them, I really am. They’ve been so incredibly dedicated and are enjoying themselves and that’s what it’s all about. This is going to be a good show. This is going to be a pretty dang good show.

robintheshrew: Infinity Brook by *jbcasacop

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 13:29:13 -0400

robintheshrew:

Infinity Brook by *jbcasacop

eilan: seananmcguire: stickylittlekitten: this-is-the-fun-vee:...

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 13:28:35 -0400

eilan:

seananmcguire:

stickylittlekitten:

this-is-the-fun-vee:

moriartyhasthetardis:

Goodness.

MY HOME MATERIALIZES.

I think I’ve reblogged all of these photos at one time or another, and I will continue to do so, cause AWESOME!!!

ekkolalia: “For we are all bound in stories, and as the years pile up they turn to stone, layer...

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 00:53:02 -0400

ekkolalia:

“For we are all bound in stories, and as the years pile up they turn to stone, layer upon layer, building our lives.”

—Steven Erikson, from The Crippled God (Tor Books, 2011)